parisiantwist

Rainbow connection.mp3

(Admittedly, the formatting is not how I would like it, but I don't have the time at the moment to add in all my indents. Also, all the lyrics are in italics. This was for my first assignment in creative writing, write about a song and place it into a story. it's a good prompt... I'm not sure how well it worked for me though. I felt a podcast would be the best output for of this.) Read more »

i.
First poem in six months-
time spent falling in love,
writing letters,
weaving hats for children of musical
notes and whispered stories.

There comes a time
when even the water,
dripping from the eves
begins to sound like
words- and it's time to write again.

ii.
That girl- Blue dress, blue eyes,
blue smile,
stands wilted in the rain,
veins running tiny blue rivers
through her arms,
blossoming into broken branches
where her wrist meets her palm.
I've seen her standing there for days,
and for once,
I take her tiny fingers,
and press them between mine.

iii.
Ridges swell where fingernails have
bitten into her own skin,
violet, crescent moons fading
slowly as the tendrils unfurl,
each sinewy strand reaching
for something more.

She scans my arms, rugged trunks
in comparison with her
willow frame,
latching her gaze onto the ridges
I have known,
gently riding up my limbs like
pale blue ocean waves across
a pebbled beach.

iv. Read more »

Amanda Song.mp3

Since there was no school today and my internet has been down... A new podcast. Adapted from the poem "Skeleton Key." (Sorry the key is a bit off... My voice is cracking. I'm getting a cold. Will redo the vocals later when not sick.)

I will not be your secret,
Hiding between closed doorways and drawers,
I will not ask forgiveness,
I’ve done nothing wrong (but I dress like a whore)
And I will not be your mother,
Keeping you safe when the monsters come close
And I will make your legs quiver
Like Genevieve’s, Oh, Oh ,Oh, Oh Read more »

Impromptu song.
May get around to writing down the lyrics when I listen to it again.

Guitar and Vocals: Paris

(I believe "you" throughout the whole song refers to death, or a personification of such.)

Just.mp3

There's just one more, chance you can take,
before we come back to this:
I'm just not sure how long I can break,
myself away from your kiss.
It's just too hard,
It's just too long,
I'm sorry, I won't be alone.
It's just too hard
I'm just too strong
and Baby, this place, it's not your home.

Cause you ran away, to el-dorado
Sleepin' in the back of a car,
I guess right now, I just wanna let you know,
I never thought we'd make it that far,
but now you're there, in California,
drippin' with the booze in your shoes,
Now you're there in California,
You've got nothing left to lose.

You take those pills, everyday now,
I guess that's what you're all about,
you're selling your soul, your clothes your everything,
You're selling yourself out
Its just too hard,
It's been too long,
I'm sorry, I just cannot stay.
It's just to hard,
I'm not that strong,
I can't watch you, fading away.

I take a plum, you take a peach,
You lay out naked, on the beach Read more »

Some day I'll be a Suicide Girl, a pin up queen with pop-art lips and a body only those dedicated to tattoos and piercings, rainbow coloured hair and trashy rock star babies adore.

Some day I'll be a wife two kids and a life I wish I could trade in for a mint condition copy of my favourite record. I promise I won't drive a mini van, they're a little too big in back for my taste.

Someday I'll get drunk and make out with a girl in the rain. We'll share a cigarette the one am tram to London and I'll realize the the only reason I'm there is because... because I can't stand the sickening thought of going back to my "family".

Some day I'll let someone tie me up and slap me around, you know, just to prove I can survive. Or maybe, it's just because thats what love is, isnt it? Read more »

sorry the timing is a little off...
I really don't have the ability to be all that musical.
But enough of my excuses.

She wants to be an explosion with painted lips
The heart in her chest is thin as ice
She likes to play with the babies and fingertips
Mixing the maggots along with the rice

She wants to play and to laugh and to smile now
dancing with stars and shadows and ghosts,
she'll get through this, this mess she made somehow
of broken glass mirrors and soggy french toast

She really hates days like Sundays,
the girls in the white, boys in black,
a cat and a mouse
a wife and a spouse
And then there is no turning back.

She wants to be an elegantly painted kiss
She's played the game of hide-and-seek all her life
She doesn't know of a place where love exists
She's more afraid of liars than of a knife

She wants to live and to run and to hold hands
Skipping through jungles of concrete and dust
she wants to find someone who understands Read more »

This mellifluous pastiche
imbues both grace and cynosure,
Blandoliloquent esoteric
syzygy rhapsody,
conflating lithe gossamer
into obsequious elixir ,
envisaging potamophilous from the lips of the perciever
to the caliginous kiss of the scenerist.

This mellifluous pastiche
imbues both grace and cynosure,
Blandoliloquent esoteric
syzygy rhapsody,
conflating lithe gossamer
into obsequious elixir ,
envisaging potamophilous from the lips of the perciever
to the caliginous kiss of the scenerist.

Short, yes... but I love the "s" sounds.

I didn't write this down...
Im pretty sure it would look silly on paper.